


Gentlemen Take Polaroids

by blythechild



Category: V for Vendetta (2005)
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-14
Updated: 2012-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-31 04:51:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/pseuds/blythechild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternate version of Norsefire's London, V meets Evey while in pursuit of Creedy. At an exotic dance parlour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gentlemen Take Polaroids

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from a song by Japan.
> 
> This story contains sexual content and mature themes. It should not be read by those under the age of 14.
> 
> This is a work of fanfiction and as such I do not claim ownership over any characters herein. It was created as a personal entertainment.

It was a foul evening to be about town. The perennial rain-soaked London streets took on a Victorian edge of malice as the wind picked up hurling the wet almost horizontally. The chill and the damp caused those abroad at this hour – not that anyone was supposed to be out – to be bundled up so tightly as to be virtually interchangeable with one another. Despite the obvious problems this caused, a gentleman had managed to shadow another halfway across the city, now and then blending into the night like a vampire when suspicions were aroused.

The first gentleman alternated between a nervously brisk pace and a painfully slow one, occasionally casting ferret-eyed glances over his shoulder to observe the empty street. He also knew where every security camera was located en route and worked his way carefully into their blind spots – a tendency that neither surprised nor troubled the second gentleman that followed him. Finally, the first gentleman made his way down an alley and towards a modest, red-lit doorway. In the bloody light he lowered his collar for identification purposes revealing his fading auburn brush cut before disappearing through the door. The second gentleman leaned languidly against the alley wall breathing in the night smells. After a respectable amount of time had passed, he too approached the red-lit doorway and knocked. An eyehole slid aside.

“Wot you want.” A statement, not a question.

“Oh, the usual: world peace, a single malt Highland scotch – neat, and to retire in style. But, this evening, I’ll settle for companionship, my good fellow.”

“Riiight.” The eyeball intoned dubiously. “Password?”

“Black-Bottomed Beauties.”

“Fifty quid.”

The gentleman slid the cash through the slot and was grudgingly admitted to paradise. The club was dimly lit and smelled of wet wool, stale booze and cooled sex. Despite the exorbitant cover charge, the club was far from luxurious: the fee was more for secrecy and security, and the privilege of breaking Britain’s obscenity laws with some of the government’s elite. The club layout was simple: a central stage with three main platforms for dancers, the remaining floor space was split equally between tabletop seating, more secluded banquettes and a long bar to the rear for those who were bent more on booze than bodies. Scanning the room quickly, the gentleman spotted his red-haired prey at the far end of the tabletop section seated with two others dressed in matching, featureless suits. A drink in hand and engaged in conversation with his friends, he clearly wasn’t worried about being followed any longer. Good, thought the gentleman, and moved towards a banquette that offered the best vantage point – of his prey, not the entertainment.

Two nearly naked ladies, who were unenthusiastically stripping each other of what little costumes they wore, occupied the stage. Occasional grinds against the stage’s central pole, and against each other, seemed to be timed almost mechanically to the beat-heavy music. Cocktail waitresses in bikini tops and mini skirts circled the tables like vultures eager to scoop up what money wasn’t being stuffed into g-strings. A girl approached dressed in a white skirt and go-go boots with two holsters mounted on her hips containing a bottle of tequila and one of rum. Her breasts were crossed with straps of shot glasses. She stood before him and shrugged her shoulders interrogatively, lifting the two bottles slightly.

“Ummm, no dear. Whiskey?”

She nodded and headed toward the bar. The gentleman continued to spy on the red-haired man, ignoring the stage theatrics completely. In spite of his surroundings, he exuded an aura of classic reserve. Dressed in black, he blended into the background effectively, until he was forcefully noticed, and then he projected charm and politeness that removed him from the company of others present with their grappling and catcalling. The music, supplied by a dj, was intensely loud, no doubt to encourage a lack of privacy during conversation: gossip in these times was almost as valuable as hard currency or flesh peddling. The allure of these private sex clubs was not only the access to the forbidden but also _who_ was accessing the forbidden. If the information was used at the correct moment, it could be most profitable or it could save a life. Club owners, and sometimes smart dancers, tended to do well even in these repressive times.

At the bar, a half dozen girls stood together dressed in a myriad of ridiculous costumes: nurse, medieval wench, schoolgirl etc. They yawned and tittered amongst themselves until roused to action by the barman who thrust a drink at them and tilted his head in the direction of the banquettes. Some debating ensued and then reluctantly the schoolgirl stepped forward with the drink in hand. The gentleman was so engrossed in his observations across the room that he didn’t see the girl approach, but instead felt her creep up next to him. She stood before him blocking his view.

“Your whiskey, guv’ ?” she said in a sickly sweet tone.

“Guv’ ?” He took the drink from her and she promptly sat in his lap, much to his shock.

“Shall I call you ‘daddy’ then? Is there a name that you prefer?” She wriggled playfully against him.

“Pardon? No! No, thank you. Please, umm – please don’t do that. It’s flattering, but not appropriate, child.” He set his drink down, doffed his wide-brimmed hat, and attempted to lift her off his lap. She stood before him with a look of mixed anger and incredulity. He waited a moment and then offered, “How much do I owe for the drink?”

“Listen, the drink’s on the house, but I’m not – understand?” She stood hands on hips and he realized that she wasn’t a child, despite her getup. She was small and birdlike, with the rounded hips and breasts of a woman, not a teenager. Her soft brown ringlets pulled painfully into pigtails were matched by her deep, dark eyes, and startlingly complemented by her pale skin and rosy lips. She wore too much make-up – better to have none at all, he thought – but she was undoubtedly pretty. Too pretty to be stuck here.

“I’m afraid that I don’t understand. What are you suggesting exactly?”

“Are you vice, or something?” she said derisively. “Cause if you are, Fergus at the bar will take care of you. A nice little inducement or the door for you. You’ve come to the wrong joint.”

“I assure you that I’m not with law enforcement.” He said with a little chuckle. “I’m just new at… all of this.” He waved his hand airily and tried to peer around her body at the tabletops behind her.

She smiled, he thought genuinely. “If you sit at a banquette you’re looking for private entertainment: one-on-one with a girl. The drinks are comp-ed, but the dance fee is twenty quid, hence the availability of seats in this section as compared to the tables across the way.” She leaned back to point and he saw the redhead still ensconced in the stage show.

“Ahh. So, men who frequent this establishment are wealthy, horny, and cheap, is what you are implying? How incongruous.”

“My thoughts _exactly!_ ” She laughed pleasantly while fixing him with a curious look. Her eyes danced when she laughed. “What’s your name?”

“You may call me Vincent. And you are?”

“Sahara.”

“Really.” He said flatly.

“No, not really. It’s a stage name. What would you like to call me?” She repositioned her hips a little suggestively. Impressive, he thought, she’s read my personality type and adjusted her approach accordingly.

“I’d like to call you by your real name. That would be the most respectful thing to do.”

“Hmmm.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “It’s Evelyn.”

“Evelyn” he mused. “It’s a little matronly for one so lovely. Has anyone ever called you Evey?”

She balked a little. “My mother used to call me that.”

“Would you permit me the same honor, Evey?”

“Okay, I guess that would be fine.” She said quietly. “Now, how about that dance? I can’t sit about and talk with you as if we’re having high tea or something.” She flitted her eyes towards the burly barman.

“Oh, yes. Why not?” he said a little too casually as he smoothed his long, black hair. “When in Rome…” He slipped her some neatly folded bills with his gloved hand.

Evey turned and nodded to the dj, who had been watching the scene with a certain interest. He nodded back and rooted through his music collection. A moment later the music changed from high energy beats to a synthetic pop song overlaid by a deep baritone crooner. The p.a. crackled to life in order to announce, “This song, by special request.” The dj winked at Evey.

“Christ, Wally!” Evey muttered.

“Is something the matter?” The gentleman re-adjusted himself for his new experience, trying to appear professional about it.

“Wally thinks it’s ever-so-funny to pick the longest songs that he can find for the lap dances, just to wear us out. ‘Gentlemen Take Polaroids’ is nearly 8 minutes…” she shot Wally a look that could’ve frozen water instantly. She climbed into his lap and added quickly, “Not that I’m wishing that this was over sooner, or anything. I’m happy to be yours for as long as you wish.”

“I take no offense, Evey. This is your job and you need not fake pleasure for the sake of my vanity – I am paying you, after all.” His dark eyes stared intensely at her and stopped her in her tracks. His face was the only thing that wasn’t swathed in black and it was almost as pale as her own. His oddness was fortified by the fact that his skin was preternaturally smooth, like a baby’s. He had no wrinkles, no scars, not even stubble.

“Well then,” she began in order to overcome the strange response that she was having towards him. “Here are the house rules: no solicitations, no kissing, and positively no touching: that’s my job. Just keep your hands to yourself and enjoy.” She smiled at him again. He liked her smile very much.

Evey began by standing, insinuating one leg between his and separating them while rotating her hips slowly. She slid up along his leg holding it securely between her legs. V looked past her as she closed her eyes to the music and checked on his mark. The redhead was scowling at one of his friends who was fumbling in a cocktail waitress’ panties. V’s attention returned to Evey suddenly as he felt her brushing her chest along the length of his thighs, over his groin and up his torso.

 _Gentlemen take Polaroids, they fall in love, they fall in love,_ intoned the vocalist.

“I thought that there was to be no touching.” He queried as he came face-to-face with the woman who lay prostrate over him.

“You really _are_ new at this, aren’t you?” Evey giggled at his surprise. “You seem to be the sort of gentleman who gets his kicks above the waistline, so why are you here if you didn’t want to partake of the flesh, so to speak?” Disconcertingly, Evey continued to grind her breasts into his chest while asking him her question. Pinning him to the banquette with her arms, she awaited a response. When no answer was forthcoming she arched backward and removed her school blouse in one movement revealing some elaborate pasties underneath. V began to feel a tightness in his chest and a growing hotness rising up his neck toward his face. The latex mask wasn’t helping matters. Reflexively, he looked away from Evey and back to the redhead. Evey caught the look and bent toward his ear.

“I can recommend a fine gentlemen’s bar. One that, perhaps, caters more to your tastes?” she whispered.

He caught her by the arms and held her away from his face.

“I don’t… I mean, I’m not… You _are_ to my tastes, dear. But you are right, I did not come here for… company.”

Evey leaned back on his lap and felt heat radiating from him. “Perhaps I am your type, Vincent, but you’re a puzzle: you didn’t come here for company yet you bought my dance and you seek out Creedy over there at every available opportunity. A man who desires solitude doesn’t risk being out at night.” She cocked her head as if he were a syllogism that just didn’t add up. “By the way, hands off.”

He let her go at once. “How do you know Creedy?”

“Everyone is this business knows him.” She continued her dance while she talked. “The club owners bribe the Finger in order to stay open. This club is a favorite of off duty Fingermen, and Creedy’s in here often conducting business and ogling the girls.” Somewhere in the conversation Evey had disposed of her skirt revealing a g-string that was merely for show. V was in awe of her detached professionalism and his sudden loss of it. “If you’re after Creedy, be wary: he’s a nasty bit of work. He likes hurting girls. It’s how he gets his rocks off. From what I hear, sometimes he hurts boys too. I was relieved when he came in that he didn’t sit at a banquette; I rue the day when he turns his eye on me.”

Evey shivered in his lap. He had an urge to hug her until she stopped, but restrained himself realizing that one doesn’t hug a mostly naked stripper for purely altruistic reasons. He had other things on his agenda this evening.

“What are you doing here, Evey? You are evidently smart, and obviously beautiful – you could be anything, ANYTHING that you wanted.” He stared at her.

She was caught off guard. “It’s… it’s not such an unusual story. I don’t have family and I lost my job. Times are very difficult and it’s a man’s world out there – it was either this or starve. It’s not so bad,” she looked away from him with what seemed like embarrassment. “Many girls here have harsher stories. And we’re protected from raids by being a Fingerman watering hole.” She began to lightly trace patterns across his chest with her fingers.

“Thank you for saying that I could be anything.”

“Your welcome, Evey. I meant it.” His hand rose, bypassing her soft thighs, toned buttocks and breasts, resting finally on her cheek, sliding two fingers down along her jaw line to her chin. He held her face lightly in his hand: he, confident in his appraisal, and she, unabashed in her nakedness.

“Hands off, remember?” She reached for his hand gently and pulled it down to his side but didn’t let it go. “If they see you touching me they’ll tune you up and then toss you out. I wouldn’t want that.” She smiled again. The song ended.

“Mmm, I highly doubt that.” He mused. “The “tuning up” part, not your reticence to see it happen.” Now he was smiling. He saw movement from the corner of his eye coming from Creedy’s table: Creedy was heading for a fire exit at the other end of the club.

“I’m sorry, Evey, but I must go. Were it not for another pressing appointment this evening, I would happily purchase another dance from you.” He couldn’t help but notice, with a certain amount of pleasure, that Evey sagged slightly at this. “I have enjoyed your company, my dear.”

“Are you sure that you’re not a cop?” she said seeing V’s eyes trace Creedy through the fire exit. V shook his head no. Evey let out a sigh.

“The exit leads to an alley that links up to warehouse rental complex. The word is that Creedy has a unit in the complex for things, or behavior, that is too sensitive to be in his home. Sometimes he takes the girls there.” She rose up off his lap while he readied himself. “Be careful, Vincent. Whatever your business is with Creedy – and it’s none of my concern – he is a dangerous man. He enjoys suffering and few are prepared to pay the price that he would ask of them.” She was re-buttoning her blouse without looking at him. “I have enjoyed your company too.”

V reached for her hand and crushed a hundred pound note into it. “Thank you and thank you for the information. I’ll look out for myself if you promise to do the same. I’ll see you again in time, Evey.” He squeezed her hand for a moment and then turned directly for the fire exit.

“I doubt that.” She said after him.

When he made it to the exit he looked over his shoulder at her as she stared at the money in her hands disbelievingly.

“I will see you again in time, Evey.” Then he was gone again into the night.


End file.
